


Super-Something

by GpoEmma



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Attempt at Humor, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/F, F/M, Romance, Superheroes, bad ass octavia, everyone loves monty, genius tech raven, lab tested lexa, super girl clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GpoEmma/pseuds/GpoEmma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke (Kara) didn't ask to be sent to another planet to carry on her people's race. But there she was, the second to last Kryptonian left. Supergirl AU. Updates to come weekly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> My first Clexa fic, please go easy.

“Mother f—-“ The expletives that fell out of the blonde’s mouth were muffled by the sounds of the traffic on the street. The harshness of worn tires against gravel that was long overdue for repaving, the yelling to and from street walkers over who’s sidewalk it was, the hecklers that tried to get someone to fall for a cheap sale, and lastly the horns of cars as they competed in an auditory penis measuring contest. It was enough, but not totally enough to dull the blonde. “— Bitch!”

“ _Clarke-y,_ ” The smooth sound of a female’s voice cut through the blonde’s, Clarke’s, mouthy rampage. “Did you miss another cab.”

It was stated, not questioned. The woman on the receiving end of Clarke’s phone knew. She missed another cab.

“Listen—”

“ _You’re going to be late. To your own gala. That you dragged Octavia and me to all because you need to prove that you are better than finding some little alley to go into and work it with your bad, freaky and fly-ey self._ ”

“Raven, you know I can’t do that. I’m in a cocktail dress.” Clarke huffed, switching the phone from one ear to the other. Another attempt at hailing a cab, one that seemed to work until some suit pushed past her and hauled his ass into the backseat. “… You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“ _You just missed another one, didn’t you?_ ”

Clarke almost cursed again. Instead her resolve broke into a sigh before she glanced from left to right down the sidewalk. No one was looking. No one was paying attention. She could just… “Reyes. You and Octavia meet me on the roof in five. Got it?”

“ _Aye-aye Super Princess._ ”

——————————————————————————————————

It was a bird, it was a plane, — It was her panties falling from her hips, down to her legs and ankles as she traveled at mach speed through the air. _I’m a superhuman pedophile_ , was the only thought that ran through her head as she approached the roof with two very unamused women on it. _Aw_ , they really were waiting for her.

Octavia and Raven, Clarke’s best (though Raven would claim she’s the bestest) friends. Both looked uncomfortable in similar looking black cocktail dresses and heels. Both looked done with Clarke.

“Hey guys.” Clarke smiled her best, but their faces wouldn’t budge from a arched brows and matching scowls. Octavia was tapping her foot on the concrete roof and Raven had her arms folded over her chest. “I uhh…”

“We’ve got you covered.” It was Octavia, holding up her purse in a hurried fashion, shaking it from side to side. “You’re late.” She sighed. “To your own party”

“It’s not my party. It’s my boss’ party. I just… Sent out the invitations, called the caterers, set the decorations, and booked the entertainment.” Clarke’s words were rushed out, followed by a groan as she stepped forward. “I didn’t even want to go to it, but Kane insisted.”

“We’ve heard it all before Clarke,” Raven bit back, reaching out for Clarke’s forearm to drag her toward the service stairs. “Now hustle, lady, the faster you show up, the faster we can leave.”

—————————————————————————————————-

The party was everything one could expect from… An art gallery. Men in turtle necks, describing pieces of art using words they got from the thesaurus of pretentiousness. Women walked around as though they were models, daring to look at snack trays as they sipped on their fifth glass of empty caloric champagne. People were gathered, some in small groups, as intimate as two, to larger groups circling ten of hoarse, callous laughter. 

Then, off in the corner with a tray at their hands, balancing hefty glasses of wine as they munched unceremoniously on the hors d’oeuvres remained Octavia Blake and Raven Reyes. It didn’t get much better for the two as the door beside them had swung open and Clarke appeared, smoothing down her dress from her hips as her head tossed back in attempts to tame the flight hair.

“Alright — Do I look presentable?”

Mumble.

Clarke turned back, mouth parting as she focused on the sight before her. No, never — She was never inviting them again. Between the way the bruschetta was stuck on the corner of Raven’s lips and the vulgarly obtrusive way Octavia chewed, Clarke felt a headache. 

“I left you two alone for five minutes.” 

“Sorry!” Octavia exclaimed through gentle chokes as the last bites of bruschetta passed through her esophagus. “I didn’t get to eat lunch today and had to speed right here after work.”

“—I have no excuse. I just enjoy embarrassing you.” Raven shrugged, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and letting the tray down on the floor. “Anyone we need to act like human beings around or is it free reign tonight?”

“Free reign. Don’t be too much of a brute. I still have to come back to work the next day.” Clarke knew neither Octavia or Raven would listen, however. Worth a shot, right? The two brunettes shot Clarke matching maniacal grins before they were out of sight and blending in with the rest of the party. Well, attempting.

They stuck out like two sore thumbs freshly hit with a hammer, floating from group to group in attempts to offend any which way possible. Clarke, however, didn’t mind. It was harmless fun. They, most importantly, were harmless fun to both themselves and Clarke’s job. 

“Clarke! You know how to throw a party.” A deep voice, yet one that carried warmth with each syllable booms from her side. The blonde turned her head, coming face to face with Marcus Kane. Owner of the gallery and her boss’ boss. “—I know Sinclair had nothing to do with this.”

“And is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Marcus in returned smiled at Clarke’s words and tipped his drink toward the crowded gallery. People were engaged, talking mostly about the art rather than themselves. A warm change of pace to the usual crowd. Hell, in the distance it seemed that Octavia and Raven had found a piece they’ve yet to ruin with their words or actions. “Good thing. Got it. Thank you for noticing.”

“Of course,” Marcus’ head dropped into a nod whilst his lips curled into a smile. Something about his smile, it should’ve felt… Sinister. Something about him from the moment Clarke met him felt like he should’ve been the bad man, the nightmare boss. But he was kind. He was sweet; stern when needed but Clarke liked him. “—Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be mingling. But you, Clarke, if you’d like to go home, go. I know how you feel about these  
gatherings.”

And, suddenly, it felt like she was holding in a breath. Suddenly felt like there was pressure in her stomach and then — it released. She sighed, letting out a low chuckle as her own lips curled to smile. “You know me so well but, I’ll play nice… For a little bit. Even my friends are having fun, see?”

Clarke nodded off to where Octavia and Raven both had their fingers on their chin, very sarcastically circling a hanging piece of art. 

“They remind me of a young woman who was snorting at a blank picture hung up on her first day.” Marcus’ retort caused Clarke’s eyes to bulge before she was left nervously laughing, sputtering how it was only a joke. “—Relax, even I thought it was questionable. Enjoy tonight, Clarke. You earned it.” He left her with a short cheers from his champagne flute before descending the small stairway and into the party.

Black, skimpy cocktail dress: $140   
Black stilettos to match: $50   
Your boss’s boss telling you that you did a fantastic job: Priceless.

The smile on Clarke’s lips only grew as she watched Marcus Kane make his way to dazzle the crowd. Yes, he was right. She should enjoy herself. 

——————————————————————————————————

Enjoying herself was four bottles of champagne before Octavia and Raven hogged the bathroom to puke. Enjoying herself was being denied every cab that passed their way before Clarke made the executive decision that she could just walk Raven and Octavia back no problem. 

“ _Clarke-y just fly and poof us._ ”

“ _You can carry both of us bridal style. You hunk of burning meteor._ ”

“ _Come on Hercules. Show us your muscles._ ”

 

It had been tiring, even on a tipsy mind, to get both Raven and Octavia changed and in their respective beds. The daunting task, however, wasn’t impossible for the inebriated blonde. What was? Making it to her room. What else was? Getting out of her own dress and into comfortable pajamas with the fuzzy socks to match. 

What was?

Tuning out the city noise as even the smallest fly, most likely the last of the season, buzzed around across the street, to hear the cars pass by as though they were moving in her head, to hear people laughing as they exited bars, to hear the soft touch of lips molding against one another in the apartment two floors below, or the staunch screaming three blocks over.

Very loud screaming. Screaming that would keep children up at night. Screaming that kept Clarke up at night.

Her eyes snapped open only after having just closed. Fuck me sideways. It wasn’t how she wished her night would end, but with her luck, it was just how her night was going to. Clarke moved in a flash, grabbing a blue and red hooded jacket, slipping it over her shoulders, and out her window she went, disappearing into the night as a blue and red blur. 

Her flight and landing were less majestic, coming to a halt and stopping with a stumble as Clarke fumbled with the zipper to move it to the top of her head. 

There she saw it. Iconic. Man with a gun. Woman helpless, cowering in the corner.

“Uh… Hey! Bozo!” Yeah, she had it then. She was completely in control. The assailant turned, gun raised and pointed at the blonde. Then, he —

He laughed. His abdomen gave out, causing him to bend over as laughter consumed him. It went on for hours. — It was really ten seconds. “You’ve… You’ve got to be kidding me—” His laughter didn’t subside for another moment. “Kid, get lost. No one needs some punk in a Spiderman hoodie on the eight o’clock news for being an idiot.”

“Kid? I’m twenty-three!” And a quarter if it meant anything to him. But by the way the gun still rested in his hand it didn’t seem like it mattered. The spiderman jacket was the only thing Clarke could find that hid her identity (Much better than her cousin’s who only took off his glasses and miraculously became some unknown man). It zipped over her head and she could see through the eye holes. It was perfect. “Uhm — I mean, drop the weapon and step away from the woman.” 

There went her best authoritative voice. Too drunk. Too drunk to be playing hero.

The assailant didn’t laugh this time around. The gun cocked and he stepped forward, brows scrunching together. “Listen… I gave you one chance to just walk away. One. Now, I’m going to be nice and give you another.”

“Let the girl go.” And if only the man could’ve see the scowl that was on Clarke’s face, he would’ve reconsidered. Her fingers curled into themselves, forming fists as she held her ground. “How about this, you can walk away right now and we’ll forget all about this?”

“You’re making the demands? Lady I’ve got the gun…” He wouldn’t shoot. Clarke was sure the gun wasn’t loaded. It was for show. It was —

Boom. Flash. Time slowed down as Clarke watched the chamber fire of and the spark from the barrel fly as the bullet quickly reached it’s target. Her.  
Right to her chest. A perfect hit… If it had pierced her. It pierced the hoodie, her shirt even but then bounced off pale skin before falling to the ground.

“What the—” Another shot rang out. Then another. Each bouncing off of Clarke in succession. Each had Clarke slowly approaching the gunman until her fingers gripped his shirt. Really, common sense would mean you run from the bullet proof freak, something he clearly lacked.

“Hey uh… You okay over there?” The cowering woman in the distance could only nod, frantically as she clutched her belongings. “Get to the street. Get a cab. Go home, okay?” Clarke didn’t wait for a response before shooting back up towards the sky, man in tow.

These expletives followed:

“Fuck! Shit — Fucking shit! What are you? You fucking _freak!_ Oh my God. Christ I’m going to die, you _bitch!_ What the fuck are you?”

“Out of this world,” It was a mumbled response, followed by Clarke jerking him about. It was mostly to scare him and only partially for her own amusement. 

“W-where are you taking me?!”

“Police station.” It was simple. Save the woman. Send the bad man to jail. Clarke was notorious for the drop and run. She flew fast, weaving between building and dropping low to the ground just to — 

Fuck. She dropped him. She fucking dropped him. Right onto the hood of a police car. Shit. Shit. Shit. She was going to turn back around but the growing crowd of policemen around the car was staggering. That and she saw the man’s head pop back up. Injured. But alive.

All in a day’s work. Yeah?

——————————————————————————————————

 

Sleep. Sleep that night didn’t come. It didn’t after hours of pitiful attempts to drown out the noises that surrounded her. There were no more screams. The city was peaceful in that sense. It was the noises inside that stirred her. 

**Freak.**

**What are you?**

Rather than who, it was what. As though she was a monster. She wasn’t. She knew she wasn’t. Her friends knew she wasn’t. Her parents knew she wasn’t. Her cousin didn’t either, but, he was another story. She wasn’t a monster. She was just like everyone else out there. Sort of.

_A woman with a childhood. A woman with memories of loving parents. A woman with memories of running through fields, of dinners with friends and family, laughing over jokes. There were memories of a world burning. There were memories of being put into a ship with the burden and promise that their race must continue on._

_She remembered watching her friends, her family, and her home be destroyed as she flew towards safety; a new hope. She remembered the noises and the jostling around before black. She remembered gasping for air, met with familiar eyes and a warm hand._

_She remembered Clark with his black mopped hair and kind blue eyes welcoming her to Earth. He stood much taller than her and then she remembered. He was only an infant and she — she was… Young. Ten, perhaps eleven._

_She remembered meeting the Griffins, name prepared, smile rehearsed in the mirror. Clark’s words rang through her ears. They couldn’t have a child, like my parents. They’ll love you._

_She remembered introducing herself, hand out and blubbering out, “Hi, I’m Clarke.”_

_The reminiscing woman laughed, throaty from the night’s air, her cousins face was priceless as she took his name. Her parents accepted and loved her from the moment they met her. She remembered — her mother cried within the first ten minutes._

_Two months later, they were signing the papers to make her officially theirs. The farewell with Clark wasn’t sad. It was filled with promises that he’d visit. Promises that somehow, he kept._

_Two years later, her parents discovered she could fly. Clarke ran. She ran fast and far to the edge of town only to be found hours later by a distraught Jake Griffin, her father. Two hours after that, Clarke and her parents sat in their dining room. They knew. They always knew._

_It took two years to love Jake and Abby Griffin like she loved her own parents. They were her new family._

They were still supportive, Clarke thought on it. Her mother only slightly disappointed that Clarke went into art out of everything she had the capability to do. For Jake… For him, whatever brought a smile to Clarke’s face was good enough.

Remembering washed away the man’s words into nothing but a small filing in the back of her head, one kept away by lock and key that each time it’s closed, she threw out. “You are so much more than what you can do…” Her words fell out in a whisper. Clarke let the words ring out into the room before her head turned to meet the morning sun peaking through her window. 

And… She got no sleep. 

**_Fuck._**


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshot into the Blake/Griffin/Reyes household and Clarke's job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter. I know I said weekly and I promise to try to keep it weekly give or take a day.

Two weeks. Two weeks after the incident after the party and two weeks of normalcy. As much as Clarke could get. 

Two weeks of dinners, bars, and clubs with Octavia and Raven. Having to care for both girls as they got wasted (on the nights Octavia wasn’t on duty and patrol) were therapeutic. Being able to care and know it was well within her capabilities was comforting. 

Two weeks of late night movies and walks to the one open fast food joint at three in the morning. Two weeks of game nights — Raven’s friend Monty always won. Two weeks of Clarke forgetting. 

Two weeks of nights where Clarke fell asleep listening to the sounds of the city, using it as a lullaby, a comforting sound. No screams, no distress.

But, two weeks of the _door_ slamming shut at seven in the morning. Clock work. 

Octavia was her first friend. Clark and her parents didn’t count. They were her family. But Octavia? Octavia was the first girl she ever considered to be a friend. They met Clarke’s freshman year at high school and Clarke’s first year in a public school. It was after one gym class, the girls in a small locker room, trying to change with the five allotted minutes and make their way to their next class. 

_Clarke’s eyes zoned out, tanned legs of a Junior left bare the only thing in view. She couldn’t have been staring for more than a second until she snapped back, a full flush coming to her cheeks. She didn’t think much of it as she walked to change in the bathroom stall. She didn’t think at all until a hand pushed itself in front of her and stopped her from entering the store._

_“Do you have x-ray vision or were you checking that girl out?”_

_On her first day of high school, after the movies she saw? Telling someone she was some enhanced humanoid freak rather than saying she liked girls too seemed as though it was the easier route to take._

_“Uh… Ihavex-rayvision.” Blue eyes widen at Clarke before laugher echoes through the empty loser room. “I’m serious.” The girl in front of her shook her head, brown locks of hair beating against her face, doing her best to contain her laughter._

_“That’s funny, but impossible, you know. Hey, listen—” Clarke doesn’t allow the girl to finish before her hands wave like a crazed person_

_“I can prove it.” The blonde nodded quickly before her eyes narrowed in on the brunette. Her eyes scanned over bones until she spotted it, her left wrist. “You broke your left wrist. You never got it set.” She looked up, meeting stunned eyes._

_“How…” It didn’t take much explanation from Clarke, the girl was impressionable, in Clarke’s mind and any other situation she’d equate her to being naive and gullible. But, she believed Clarke and most importantly kept her secret. Both of them._

_“I’m… Octavia, by the way. I guess I should introduce myself if I’m going to keep your secret. Especially if we’re going to be friends.” The brunette, Octavia, held out her hand. A friend. Her friend. Her first friend._

 

“God _dammit_ , Octavia.” The blonde hurled form her room, padding down the hallway and into the kitchen, finding her roommate sitting on the counter, arm deep in a box of cereal. “People are trying to sleep.”

“Raven sleeps like the dead and I knew you’d be up.” Octavia’s words were coupled with a shrug before she tossed a handful of french toast crunch into her mouth. "Especially after that stunt you pulled a couple of weeks ago. We had to total the car out. Your conscience doesn’t like destroying government property.”

“—How bad was it?”

“I just told you we had to total the car out.”

“No,” Clarke sighed, moving to the opposite counter, pressing her back against it as her arms folded over her chest. “The guy I dropped off.”

“Your damsel made a call and said some person wearing a Spiderman hoodie saved her from being robbed and flew the guy away, so, after a check up at the hospital I’d say pretty good in your favor. He confessed to the whole thing so long as he didn’t ever have to go flying ever again.”

The amusement that was on Octavia’s face — shit eating grin as she open mouth chewed on dry cereal — brought a snorted laughter to Clarke’s lips. Cereal traveled messily from the cop’s lips and onto her lap and the floor below. 

“He shot me. My favorite sweatshirt now has bullet holes and gunpowder residue on it. It _smells_ smokey.” A pout and shrug for the damaged garment. Clarke moved forward, stealing a handful of cereal from the box. "I don't like smokey."

“You know if you’re going to be playing hero, you might want to invest in something not so comical.”

“No,” her voice remained muffled, chewing briefly before she swallowed thickly. She wasn’t going to turn into her cousin. She wasn’t Clark. “Not going to happen. Clark. _Clark_ , is the hero. I just… I don’t do it all the time. You know that. Your radio was just so freaking loud. I couldn’t sleep. I only go out when I can’t sleep.”

Octavia shrugged, snatching the cereal box out of Clarke’s grasp. “You can’t sleep a lot it seems.”

“It’s your pawn shop police—”

“— Bitches.” A hand, slammed to the counter behind both Clarke and Octavia. 

Raven was a different story. Raven didn’t come to be her friend out of a heartfelt moment of weakness. Clarke met Raven in college during her sophomore year in the most unceremonious of ways.

_After an all-nighter coupled of studying and stopping a small (really small) robbery at a pet store, Clarke made her way to her dorm shared with Octavia. One locked door away from three blissful hours of rest before having to go to her first class of the day._

_The door was pushed open by her foot, hand fumbling around to get the key out of the lock. Octavia was passed out, head slightly hanging off the bed, arm completely draped over. Cute sight, if it weren’t for the clear indication that she was naked. Side boob and all._

_Clarke’s head turned and she froze. There was someone in her bed. Someone was in her bed. Someone not Octavia. Someone she didn’t know. Clarke did what Clarke knew best.  
Screamed._

_Screamed loud enough that Octavia jumped feet into the air and fell to the floor. Screamed loud enough to —-_

_The girl in her bed didn’t move. She shifted from her head facing the wall to turning towards Clarke, clutching Clarke’s — operative word, Clarke’s — pillow tightly. “Kay blue eyes.. Really want a round two?”_

_Clarke’s eyes widened…_

_And that’s how the three found out Clarke had heat vision. Her pillow didn’t survive._

As Clarke turned, Octavia lifted her head, tongue still picking bits of cereal from her teeth. Raven stood, hunched forward and glaring at the two. “You know our walls are like super thin and it’s eight thirty.” Clarke and Octavia exchanged looks. Raven was never a morning person. One of Raven’s rules: Don’t wake the beast before _nine_. “Now, which one of you is making me waffles?”

The answer was french toast bits raining down on her.

 

The trio’s morning eventually lead to feeding their hungry stomachs through means of force fed cereal and left over pizza from — “I don’t know, but it doesn’t smell so will you just eat it? God, you’re so picky, Octavia.”

Octavia was the first to resign herself, slowly making her way to her room early on with complains of an upset stomach, leaving the mess for Rave and Clarke to clean. 

“Yo. This place stinks. Come on, Griffin. I’ve got a whole list of chores for you. Might as well make O’s like a living hell while we’re at it.”

Clarke was used to Raven’s benefit, lifting couches as Raven swept beneath, floated in the air to dust as Raven instructed. 

“Put some elbow into — Clarke , that wall leads right into my room!” 

And, lastly, she was Raven’s muscle, her own multi-tool as she fixed leaky pips with a gentle squeeze. The humoring ended there when Raven started referring to Clarke while imitating a terminator-esque accent. 

“I am the Griffinator, here me go smash.” It ended in Clarke squeezes just too tight and soaking Raven in kitchen sink water. Her talents were used to their highest potential in the Blake/Griffin/Reyes household.

What a wonderful day to start the morning.

——————————————————————————————————

The modest gallery, Polaris Museum of Modern Art’s small exhibit, held start contrast when a party wasn’t occurring. The downstairs remained staged but instead of party goers it was opened to the public. Some looked on with the same snobbish attitude from the party, objectively staring and spewing comments from up their ass, whereas some looked like Octavia and Raven.

And some… bumbled past spectators, folders slowly falling from hands, and rushing towards the stairs. The woman that could fly as fast as a jet, could leap buildings in a single go could not get to work on time.

Clarke rushed up the stairs, heels — ouch — clacking against marbled floor with each step as she approached her office. With her luck, maybe, just maybe Kane or Sinclair wouldn’t notice the tardiness. Her keys fumbled, echoing noise as she hurried to open the door. Maybe… 

“—Clarke!” Fuck. _Fuck_ everything and it’s mother. The blonde took a deep breath, head dropping against the door, smacking it gently. Just her luck. 

“Mr Kane,” She turned, smile on her face to meet the gaze of her boss. He was smiling back — God damn that warm smile. He also wasn’t alone. Two gentlemen accompanied him, both standing to his side.

“Clarke I was just giving a tour to some good acquaintances of mine. Dante Wallace and his son, Cage.” Acquaintances meant potential investors. Hello job security.

Dante Wallace was an elderly man, hair so white, Clarke thought it was the only color to ever grace his features. He stood tall, yet held himself frail with two hands pressing into a wooden cane resting in front of him.

Cage was a snapshot of his father. He looked like a photo from his father’s early days, brought to life in present time. Just inches taller, he carried himself much different than the elder. There was an air of arrogance and superiority that immediately called for Clarke to dislike him. As he smiled, she took notice of the way his jaw tensed, how his bones looked like devil horns twisting into his chin. Definitely did not like him.

“Wallace—” She’s heard that name before. Somewhere…

“CEO and COO of Mt. Weather pharmaceuticals.” Clarke blinked, composure quickly regaining. _Holy shit, they were loaded._

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Oh, right. _Manners _. The folders were juggled in her hands until she managed to outstretch one for a proper shake. Or should she curtsy? “I hope you’re enjoying some of the pieces we have. I know it’s not nearly the size of Polaris but—”__

__Dante was the first to take her hand, holding it firmly within his grasp. “My dear, Clarke, my son and I are art lovers. The simple fact that Polaris has been able to expand into a local museum for the disadvantaged speaks miles on—”_ _

__“—Forgive my father. He can talk for eons. I’m Cage as Marcus introduced.” The younger Wallace interjected, taking Clarke’s hand in his. His voice oozed condescension, like a acid dripping out onto her skin and in her ears. He was so different than his father. Another thing Clarke didn’t like._ _

__“Right, pleasure, _again_.” She was short, a ghost of a smile on her lips. His outright disrespect did not go unnoticed, and wasn’t any bit amusing to the blonde. “—It’s nice to have art enthusiasts visiting Mr. Wallace.” Clarke’s gaze quickly traveled from Dante to Kane and back, briefly noticing the smile her boss had on his lips. _ _

__“And hopefully we’ll be seeing more of them. Now, we won’t waste your time, Clarke, I know you have important projects to work on today.”_ _

__They left as soon as they came by with Kane ushering the two down the hall to the sculpting studio. Her eyes carefully watched on. Something didn’t sit right. From the fragility that carried Dante and the seemingly puppeteer way his son followed him with, to Cage’s stride, hovering behind his father._ _

__It most certainly didn’t sit right when Cage turned back to smile and wave. It would have if not for his smile was sickening. Twisted and wicked lips with a glowering gaze coupled with his fingers slowly moving up and down that could only send an unsettling shiver down her spine._ _

__“Rich people…”_ _

__——————————————————————————————————_ _

__The city calmed from a rumbling roar, sidewalks littered with people, roads busy with traffic, down to a calming whisper. The sense of urgency to be _there_ or over _there_ was gone, replaced with the desire to leave. It was the weekend. People were well on their way to enjoy their days off from the never ending and fast paced lives. The work day was over and no one was more relieved than Clarke was. _ _

__The apartment was empty when she returned home. Octavia was more than likely on an other night shift, only confirmed when her badge wasn’t on the dining room table. And Raven was with their friend Monty, fixing systems at C.O.L. Cyber Security. At least, that’s what the scribbled note — covered in grease — on the fridge said._ _

__

“ _Gonna blow up shit at Monty’s job.  
Don’t wait up for me._

___xoxo,___

___Raven  
with extra XXX ;)_ ”__

__Her night started with a phonemail home. Her parents eager to speak to her. She could hear both Jake and Abby arguing through the phone to talk to her first before she reminded them that speaker was indeed an option._ _

__“No I’m not dating… I don’t need to date to be happy…Yes I’m eating… Octavia and Raven are good… No we haven’t got in trouble… I promise we’ll stay out of trouble… Christmas is still like five months away but sure. I’ll be home… Okay, love you.”_ _

__The night was young, yet Clarke had no intentions of leaving. Not with the piles of take-out containers emptied out on the coffee table and certainly not with soaking for what felt like hours. Her mind and body tuned out the world. Just for a night._ _

__Just for a night would she close her eyes. Just for a night would she drown out the noises around her. Just for a night would she let herself succumb to letting go._ _

__Just for a night she would hear the police radio crackle from Octavia’s room —_ _

__“ **Got… Going off at Mt. Weather Pharmaceuticals… Officer Blake responding… En route… No request… Holy Shit. Supers… We have… Supers. Request for back up. Back up!** ”_ _

___Octavia._ _ _

__“Fuck me thrice.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all like it. Can you guess who's at Mt. Weather? ;)


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is up with Mt. Weather and does Clarke know Bruce Wayne?

Chapter 3

 

If there was a top speed to Clarke’s fight, she found it. Whirling through the air, Spiderman sweater barely zipped all the way, she sped past sirens and cars slowly approaching the skyscraper across the city.

Mt. Weather pharmaceuticals was one of the few buildings in Ton D.C. that stood tall, by miles, against the rest of the skyline. There were only a few buildings matched it’s glory. Walls and windows twisted into root looking structures bound together in a single structure. 

As beautiful as the building was, Clarke’s only thought was to get in before Octavia, deal with whatever supers were in the building, and disappear before one officer, specifically her roommate, entered. 

The broken window high up was a start. “Amateurs.” She found it cliche to begin with as she flew into the building from the broken glass. No lights. Well. That part was smart. It gave whomever was up there a head start while others were distracted by the broken window. The city’s wind was the only thing that she could hear at first before footsteps ahead.  
The footsteps weren't of a single person. Two supers. Great.

The building was quiet. Clarke assumed some security would be walking around. She was in a very important building. But, oh well. Idiots. Her feet carried her through the floor, all computers were off, yet the light that illuminated was a stale orange. “Back up generators,” She’s seen enough neo-noir films with Raven to come to said conclusion.

Whoever broke in had to have known cutting the engine would trigger alarm. Hence the disturbance call. They wanted police there. That known sent a shiver down Clarke’s spine as she pressed forward, quickly moving toward the service stairs. Still no one, but she could hear shuffling above. Two voices. Both female.

Clarke shifted, closing the door to the stairwell behind as she made her way to the next floor. Creeping forward, she moved as silently as possible. Two supers were in Cage Wallace’s office, if the shattered glass door next to his name engraved on the wall was any form of indication.

“Okay, you can do this. Two supers you know nothing about. Just… take care of it before O or anyone else…” The shuffling stopped and suddenly everything was eerily quiet. Clarke slowly turned her head around the corner only to be met with a hard fist connecting with her jaw.

“Fuck!” 

“Ow!”

The blonde stumbled back, left in a dizzy haze as her hands reached out to steady herself. She was hurt. Super had super strength. Not just any super strength. Very, very super strength. Noted. When Clarke slowly came to, her arm raised ready to strike back but a laughter broke through the air.

“Spiderman… Really?” Not again. The voice didn’t come from Clarke’s assailant, however, but from feet away. Boots scraped along marble floor, slowly approaching and the figure quickly pulled her opponent away and out of reach.

Clarke stepped back, head slowly shaking back into focus. Both supers in front of her were dressed the part of super-spy. One in a crimson colored leather jump suit. The other in forest green. Both with helmet masks. How convenient. In contrast to Clarke, she looked like an absolute child.

“Not the point. You’re not supposed to be here.” Clarke did her best to drop her voice, to be the sound of justice that her cousin had perfected so well, but it was only laughed at by the woman in red.

“And I doubt you are either.” The voice was distorted, no less from the mask. Clever trick. 

“A… **Nuke**. I think she broke my hand.” It was the figure in green. Not think, did. The crunch when a fist collided with her jaw didn’t go unnoticed. “We got what we came for. Let’s go.”

“No!” Clarke stepped forward, fingers balling up slowly. “The police are on their way. Return what you stole. Now.” Another laugh. Clark was getting agitated with the laughter. Red and green turned to each other before setting their sights back to Clarke.

“Unlikely.”

A fight. Clarke did not see it coming. _Oh for the love of God_. Both supers charged. The blonde’s gaze turned from Red and Green. Back and forth, Clarke decided — fight it is. Red and Green collided into her, matching arms being thrown. Clarke caught Green’s and easily shrugged Red off of her, tossing her whimsically and uncaringly away.

“We don’t have to fight!” They were stalemated. Current strengths matching each other, though Clarke was one moment away from ceasing to hold herself back.

“You’re in our way. So, _yes_ , we do.” A flurry. Green swung, freely with her other arm, a hard hit meeting Clarke’s head.

Before? Before Clarke was annoyed. She had the night to herself, a night to relax in weeks and instead of a bubble bath and feverish moments to herself and her bedroom, she was getting punched in the head by a super that could hurt her.

“I don’t want to do this the hard way.” Another hit, harder and making full contact into her gut. The air knocked from her lungs, involuntarily sending her torso to bend forward. 

Now? Now she was mad. 

Eyes glowed red, burning holes into the hooded sweatshirt. She was furious. She tried to be just. She tried to give them the option to walk away. “Fine. The hard way.” Clarke reached forward, gripping onto Green and with a single tug, through her back.

Wall.

Wall.

_Wall._

_**Shit.**_

“Sorry! I — I didn’t mean…!” There was remorse as Green flew threw several walls, landing rooms away. 

Yelling! There was yelling and It didn't come from Clarke or the figure she had just thrown across the building. Clarke’s head spun. It was Red. She was… Red. Glowing _Red_. Red was — _Hot_ , glowing red.

And… suddenly Clarke was in the air. She was flying through the air. Without control of her body. She saw the night’s sky and clouded stars. She saw an aircraft pass over her head, hundreds of feet above her. She soared until her descent and then she realized: 

Red blasted her with something fierce. Something powerful enough to render Clarke useless, to knock her off her feet. To send her across the city like a rag doll. To send her crashing down into a junkyard on the outer banks and onto a car, crushing it beneath her.

“Owie…” And yes, her hoodie was ruined.

—————————————————————————————————

“ _Two suspects have been taken into questioning regarding last night’s Mt. Weather pharmaceutical break in. We do have confirmation of the identity of the two suspects. Keenan Mykulak and Allison Sterling, former interns at Mt. Weather.  
Police have issued—_ ”

The door slammed, prompting Clarke to turn and watch as Octavia stormed passed her and into her room, slamming that door was well. Someone had a rough night -- duh.

Clarke followed keeping a careful distance between her and Octavia, slowly pushing the door open after a moment of standing around. Octavia was already in bed, on top of her covers and her uniform still on. “Hey—”

“What the hell, Clarke?” It was a grumbled response, followed by a pillow thrown at Clarke’s face.

“Hey, I just wanted to know if you knew anything about what happened last night at—”

“Cut the shit,” Octavia huffed out, tossing herself onto her back. “I know you were there. As soon as I pulled my car up, I saw you. Flying through the air like a damn jet. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

The smile offered to Octavia was sheepish in nature as Clarke moved to sit at the foot of the brunette’s bed. “Your police radio was on. I wasn’t going to do anything until I heard you say supers. Two of them like you said. They took something. I don’t know what. Ugh… There was one in green. She — she packed a punch that could hurt, it took me a few hours to get my jaw set right. The other one was in red. Blasted with me something. I don’t know - Green referred to her as Nuke. They were powerful. I landed on a car in the junkyard across the city, by the time i I flew back, thru were gone and police surrounded the building. What about you? Anything?”

“Before the sergeant yanked me out of the scene? Yeah, Cage Wallace’s computer was erased. Probable data extraction. The tech crew was just getting there when I left. Sergeant said they were going to make a cover up while the detectives investigated at the discretion and "utmost respect and courtesy for Mt. Weather." Whatever.” Octavia rubbed her temples before turning to look at Clarke. “First on the scene and they shut me out as fast as they could.”

“You’ll get your big break soon.”

A small moment of silence filled the room. The police were hiding something. Mt. Weather was hiding something. A break in at Mt. Weather. Two supers and Clarke and Octavia knew next to nothing. But, Octavia’s lips spread out into a smirk. head propping up on her hand.

“So, you got your ass handed to you?”

“Shut up.”

—————————————————————————————————

“So… Was it all for nothing?” A voice called out followed by foot steps carrying into a room lined with television screens and obscure objects. The voice focused on a green silhouette in the center of the room as they typed away on the computer in front of them. Coming to light, the figure, woman, was in worn clothes. Crimson leather jumpsuit. Red. The helmet was between her arm and hip, allowing long dirty blonde hair to cascade down her shoulders. “Lexa?”

Lexa, the identified green clad silhouette turned, helmet pulling off it's head and shaking out long brown hair. Bright green hues led to a quirked brow and smirk. “We’ve got plenty. The Wallace’s have recently started to invest in the Polaris Museum of Modern Art.”

“How is that helpful?” The blonde’s tone was agitated, arms folding one another. All that for charitable actions. "That's boring if not philanthropic."

“Anya. Are you going to let me finish?” No response. Lexa scoffed, turning back to the computer. “There’s two accounts. Both have activity but one is offshore. Ten times the amount is being deposited into that one and I can't figure out who's making transactions on the account.”

“So unless they’re trying to buy out the Mona Lisa…”

“— Exactly. Follow the money. Figure out what they’re doing.”

“Find anything else?” Anya moved closer, eyes carefully scanning over the computer screens. “Was that girl part of Mt. Weather? Another experiment gone wrong? What about the tests?”

“Nothing. I don’t think she’s one of them. I’m not a computer genius either. It took me all night and morning to decipher this.” Lexa blew out a puff of air, pulling her bottom lip to her teeth. “We’ll get Lincoln on it. Well… First thing Monday. Apparently he has a date tonight.”

“Alright. What do we do then?”

See if Polaris is looking for more investors. I’m sure they’d love to have A.L.I.E. Corp attached to their name.”

“Yeah? And what are we going to tell Uncle Nyko in order to convince him?” Lexa shrugged her shoulders.

“That we’re patrons of the arts… And we found out through the grapevine that the Wallace’s invested.”

Anya snorted, throwing her head back in laughter. Their Uncle hated the Wallace’s, as did she and her sister, Lexa. “That’ll definitely get him on board.” A slight pause filtered into the room as Anya continued to scare at the screen. "Oh, how's your hand?"

"Already healed. Hurt like a bitch, though." Lexa shrugged, leaning back against the chair, tilting her head up. "Bested by a girl in a Spiderman sweatshirt."

"There are worse things?"

"Not even."

—————————————————————————————————

By the end of the weekend, news of the Mt. Weather break in was just that: news, specifically forgotten news. No televised news network spoke of it, not even in the rotating tag lines. No newspaper in the city covered the story either. The public eye had forgotten. Even Octavia’s conspiracy theories calmed into radio silence, just mumbled garble of, 'They're working on it. Not my case.' Just like that, it was over. But not for Clarke.

She hadn’t forgotten; she couldn't. Not as she returned to work that Monday or Tuesday. Not as she found herself lost in her work, locked in her office as she finished her first work for the small firm, tediously working from the moment she got there to the moment it was time to leave. Not the next day either.

That night wouldn’t escape her. The calculative moves of the two supers she faced, Clarke’s clumsiness in handling the matter, and the cover up. Something was happening, brewing. It didn’t sit well with her.

But, she wasn’t _Clark._

She was sloppy. She had shown up in a hooded sweatshirt from Spencer’s, a novelty item, out of fear for her friend. She apologized to her opponent. She didn’t have the grace of her cousin or his league of — 

— Whatever. She was no superman. No savior of her people. No new hope. She was Clarke. A detached, clumsy, hopeful artist working her way up. Just a woman. No some super-something. Not super anything. Her unsettling feelings would have to remain just that and nothing more.

Clarke sighed, pulling herself from her thoughts. Stepping back from the painting, she smiled. Done and at her boss’ request, freshly hung downstairs for viewing. Her first piece to be shown.

“That’s a beautiful painting.” Tugged from the prideful admiration, Clarke turned her head toward the intruding voice. She was met with the most interesting shade of green eyes she had ever seen. Staring into them, even though shortly, let like a glimpse into the forest. Clarke was briefly entranced. The blue skies line her iris’, leading to flouring leaves of the trees down to the bordering ground of brown surrounding her pupils. 

“Uh… What?”

Plump lips — Oh God, Clarke looked down — spread into a smile and laughter filled the space between them, head shaking from side to side, beautiful golden brown tresses bouncing back and forth.

_Are you the daughter of the David or did God finish sculpting perfection?_  
Hey girl, I wanna take my paint brush and reproduce some Jackson Pollock on  
that face of yours?  
I’d like to see twenty four frames of you per second.  
I was not aware that living artists could exhibit themselves here.

“— I said, what a beautiful painting. The one we’re currently standing in front of. I have… I have to admit, I have no idea what it means or symbolizes. I just know I can’t stop looking at it.” 

And yet Clarke realized that the brunette’s eyes were not on the painting but locked on her. She gulped, nervous laughing expelling from her lips. “Thank you.”

“ _You painted this?_ " Clarke fell easily into a giggle for a moment, quickly recovering as she began coughing. The woman before her stood surprised with widen eyes. 

"I did. I'm an assistant-assistant curator. But, my boss saw my portfolio one day. He wanted to turn this little piece of Polaris as dedication to local artists." Clarke's eyes lingered on the brunette before her gaze averted back to the painting. "I finished it last night, actually."

"It's very impressive. Much like it's creator." The brunette's lips twitched to smirk. 

“You really enjoy flirting with strangers don’t you?” The brunette’s response was a simply shrug following her body turning towards Clarke as her hand extended. 

“Only the beautiful ones. I’m Lexa, by the way."

“Clarke.” Nerves bested her as she took Lexa's hand in her own, squeezing just too hard by Lexa's reaction. The brunette winced slightly, smirk faltering into a smile. "Oh God, I'm sorry. My - my father always said to give a firm handshake."

"No -- no. It's not your fault. Sprained my wrist."

"Why isn't it wrapped then?" Clarke raised a quizzical brow, forgetting everything as she took Lexa's wrist gently to inspect it. Eyes narrowed as her vision shifted. Nothing broken.

"Are you a doctor too?" Lexa had a brow raised. Clarke glanced up, red quickly staining her cheeks with a blush. An embarrassed smile etched across the blonde's features, hand slowly dropping Lexa's wrist. 

"Not for lack of my mother trying, but no." Clarke shook her head and took a small step backwards. "It really is just a light sprain, but you should still wrap it."

"I'll be sure to take your advice when I return home, Clarke." The soft click of the 'K,' in her name took Clarke's interest. Lexa's tone was warm, sincere even. Her lips spread into a wide smile as she gazed on. "Artist and pretend doctor? You're a jack of all trades."

Clarke's deepened, spreading down to her neck and collarbone. "Um... Not really. I know a little bit here and there but I honestly wouldn't be able to tell you the difference between congestive heart failure and obstructive pulmonary heart disease." 

Silence fell between them as Lexa arched a brow, smirk remaining intact as she continued to stare at Clarke. "You are something, Clarke."

"Ha, sure. I'm something alright." The blonde chewed on her bottom lip, gaze caught to Lexa's. More silence, blue and green hues locked on to each other. It lingered until they both fell into short laughter. 

"Clarke, will you be in attendance at the gala? The one at the P-MOMA?"

"You mean where Katy Perry performs and Kanye shows up wearing three million dollars worth of jewelry?" The blonde snorted and shook her head. "Im afraid that assistants of assistants don't get invitations."

"What if said assistant of an assistant were to be attending as my date?"

"Wait--"

"Ah, Alexandra." Clarke loved Marcus Kane. He was an amazing boss. He treated her more than well at the office. But he was always interrupting. And, for that, she never hated him more. "Your sister and I were wondering where you ran off to. Now, I'm not very surprised. I see you've met Clarke Griffin, one of our most promising assistants.”

Marcus stood next to a girl - no woman, all woman - that didn't hold many similarities with Lexa than a strong jaw structure. Blonde hair and striking eyes bore into her. Clarke smiled, though confused, and nodded along.

"We were just talking about--"

"Clarke's newest painting. It's beautiful. I'd love to see it featured at the Gala." Clarke turned, open-mouthed toward Lexa. Was she insane? Her work was, decent and acceptable by a standard critic's eye. "Don't you think it would represent your firm well?"

"Oh, Well -- I'm sure Marcus Would rather have something featured by someone-"

"I'm sure my Uncle Nyko would be more than happy to double the donation we were discussing if such matters were put into place." Again with the open-mouth, except Clarke started sputtering out, arms practically flailing about.

Marcus stood, stunned at the brunettes words, but his lips soon spread into a wide smile. He nodded and chuckled softly, "I can surely change our submission for the gala, if you think the attendees would appreciate Clarke's work more. Ah, Clarke — my manners escape me. Alexandra and her sister Anya are Nyko Wood's nieces. CEO of A.L.I.E corp?"

A.L.I.E. Corporation was another large business like Mt. Weather, yet their research was based around preservation of life, top and private medical research. Stare of the art facility with offices around the world and former parent company to Mt. Weather, specifically. 

More rich people. 

"Alexandra is a real Bruce Wayne type philanthropist."

At that, Clarke snorted. "Except she's not nearly as grumpy as Br... As Mr. Wayne seems to be in the media." 

A pregnant pause consumed them before Marcus was clearing his throat. "And again, Clarke, it seems I've stolen enough of your time the past few weeks, if you'd excuse us, we have some... Paper matters to discuss."

Clarke watched as the trio left, partially still stunned. Not only had she met the most gorgeous woman she'd ever seen, her painting was going to be hung at the gala. She was attending the gala with - shit!

"Yes!" Clarke shouted just as Marcus, Anya, and Lexa had reached the stairs. The brunette was he first to turn, Marcus and Anya followed with quizzical looks, yet it was Lexa that smirked and nodded in confirmation. 

"I'll be seeing you soon, Clarke."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think so far?

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts, comments, concerns?
> 
> Also seeking a beta!


End file.
